The Paradox
by indelibility
Summary: Tomione, Time Travel Story. So they were trapped with this younger version of Lord Voldemort. Few things rank higher on Hermione's list of stressful things than a situation she's helpless to do anything about and a trip to the past to right future wrongs. But as the changes that she makes spawn consequences that spiral out of her control, Hermione grows increasingly desperate...
1. Arrival

**Harry Potter does not, and will never, belong to me.**

**Bold** is for thought-speak between Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Draco

_Italics_ are for thoughts to self

* * *

The Paradox

* * *

The morning air was chilly and frigid, a small cover of snow blanketing the bright green hills. The sun crested over the faraway mountains, shining pale beams of light over the tranquil castle and its glittering lake.

Four figures lay in spreadeagled position, unconscious on the wet, frozen grass.

A strand of hair made her nose itch. Hermione sneezed, waking up violently, and opened her eyes. She felt disoriented; she shaded her eyes with her hand as her head spun. It was unbearably bright outside; she blinked, squinted, and coughed, shoving herself up into a sitting position. Something was splattered on her white blouse, darkening it in spots and splatters. Blood.

But it wasn't hers.

Her vision was still blurry and her body was beginning to break out in goosebumps from the icy wind, and the snow was melting into her clothing. But she was alive.

She couldn't believe it.

They were..._hopefully,_ they were all alive. The spell had worked.

Against all odds, they had survived.

_We survived._

Hermione blinked in realization. _We survived!_

But a simple statement repeated itself over and over in her mind.

_What do we do next?_

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. Her fingers were frozen, and her left leg felt funny. It was twisted beneath her body, in a position that was definitely not normal. It was probably broken. She could tell that it was supposed to be hurting, but the waves of pain were separated from her mind, making them slightly more bearable. But her pain wasn't the most important thing on her mind. She smiled bitterly. Hermione could easily fix a broken leg. But she couldn't bring back the dead.

She shook herself, remembering her priorities. She couldn't afford to look inwards, or linger in the past, when there was so much to be done now.

Hermione looked around her warily, her eyes scanning the field for the other three people that she knew would be there.

Draco was sitting up already, facing away from her, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed coughs as he waved his wand over his left wrist, which was bleeding copiously. Hermione worried for him. He'd been sick already before everything had spontaneously gone wrong, and the time traveling had only worsened his condition.

Ginny was sprawled carelessly on the ground, bruises blossoming on her ashen skin. She could have passed for a bloodless corpse- her eyes were sunken, her cheekbones sharp against her skin. She looked as if she hadn't eaten for several days. But she was stirring, her brown eyes opening, a pale hand reaching up to block the light. She did not seem to be in pain. Good. She was alive, at least, with no visible injuries.

Hermione cast her eyes about for the most important person in their little group.

Harry was...he was just lying there, his eyes closed. From this distance she could only see his limp figure on the ground. She couldn't see any injuries. She hoped that there were none. Hermione tried to limp towards him, but promptly fell on her face into the ground when her left leg buckled. She hoisted herself up, spat the bitter snow out of her mouth, and crawled towards him instead.

"Harry!" But Ginny was already there first, tenderly lifting Harry's head into her lap, a gentle hand smoothing down his unruly hair. Ginny bent and pressed her lips against his, but there was no response.

**Oh Harry, please be alive, please be alive-**

Hermione felt Ginny's wails in her mind, a blast of emotion that nearly unbalanced Hermione's careful control over her own emotions.

"What's wrong with him?" Ginny looked up at Hermione, alarm barely masked in her eyes.

Hermione fumbled for Harry's pulse, clasping his wrist tightly. His heartbeat was faint and fluttering, but it was there. "He's alive." She sighed in relief and ripped open his blood-stained shirt, causing buttons to fly in all directions. An ugly sight met her eyes. A deep, livid wound had been pressed against the cloth, with jagged edges and torn skin. Blood still pulsed sluggishly from the laceration, and the sour smell of infection permeated the air. She winced and felt for her wand, a hard lump in the back pocket of her jeans. "Accio Essence of Dittany!"

The bottle soared immediately into her trembling hands. She let three drops of the precious liquid fall on the wound, watching with bated breath as the skin steamed and the wound sealed itself. With a shaky breath, Hermione stowed the bottle away. She scanned his body for any other injuries but found none. Presumably, his mind was injured far worse than his body, because he still hadn't woken.

"Can't you heal him?" Ginny demanded.

"I already have." Hermione said impatiently.

"Why isn't he waking?"

"He might have a concussion." Or something even worse, Hermione thought, but she didn't say it, just in case speaking it out loud would make it true. She waved her wand over his face, her breath forming a visible cloud in the air. "Rennervate."

Her magic sparked feebly from the end of her wand and was absorbed into Harry's chest. But there was no reaction from Harry. His black scar stood out starkly on his pale forehead, like a stylized tattoo. His skin was white and bloodless, his muscles slack. But his expression was peaceful, and he could have been asleep if it weren't for the fact that Hermione knew that he wasn't. Her breathing quickened and she slid her hand over his forehead, checking his temperature. He was burning up. What if...what if he never even woke up? The possibility was too painful. She couldn't bear to think of it. She'd already lost so much- what if Harry was taken away from her, too?

He _had_ to recover.

**Fix him.** Ginny pleaded.

_"_Rennervate_." _Hermione tried again. It was painful to speak: her voice was raspy and her throat felt raw, but she ignored her physical agonies in favor of staring at Harry's face until everything else seemed to blur out of focus.

There was nothing, not even a single twitch from Harry.

Ginny drew her wand and gently pushed Hermione out of the way. "Let me try."

"Rennervate." Ginny tapped Harry's shoulder. "Rennervate, rennervate, renervate_-_" Still no response.

**It won't work.** A new voice entered the telepathic conversation.

Ginny wore a look of helpless fury. **But-****  
**

**Draco's right. **Hermione told Ginny apologetically. **We don't know what happened to him. Until we investigate the cause of his unconsciousness more thoroughly, we shouldn't try anything or else we risk injuring him further.**

**So what do we do? **Ginny seemed to be on the verge of panic.

**Bring him up to the school. If the spell worked, then we should be safe enough.** Draco had finished healing his wrist already. He stood over them now, casting a lengthy shadow on the glittering snow. He wasn't wearing his trademark sneer: his face was an expressionless mask. Hermione searched for the right word to describe him. He looked..._war-torn_. He was dirty and his face was pallid, and he was so skinny and exhausted with those dark bags lingering under his eyes that he didn't even look as if he had ever belonged to a pure-blooded family. No, Lucius certainly wouldn't have approved of his Muggle outfit, either. Hermione hid a smile and looked toward the castle in the distance, feeling a rush of relief warm her shivering body. Hogwarts was whole, intact, and...Harry needed help.

Still, she felt uncertain about their next course of action.

The castle should be safe now, completely safe, yet her senses were telling her that something was not right. The spell hadn't been done correctly, the ritual had been rushed, they'd been pursued- but she realized quickly that her hesitating was pointless. Harry could be in serious trouble.

They had no choice.

**Hurry. **Ginny pleaded. **Harry needs help.**

Hermione sighed. **We all do. Let's go.**

* * *

Draco opened his eyes and stared up at the comfortingly familiar ceiling of the Infirmary. He wanted to get up, but his vision was blurry, and his head ached, and something was really, really hurting him. He was so tired. He closed his eyes again.

**Draco, wake up!**

**Why? **He didn't want to listen. It didn't matter. He didn't care. He just wanted...to go back to...sleep.

Something nagged repeatedly at the back of his head, telling him that he was forgetting something.

**The ritual...it didn't work correctly. We're in the wrong time.** The voice told him.

**What does it matter?** He protested. Someone else was telling him to swallow a potion. He felt hands press down on his shoulders and tip his head back. But when he tasted the bitter liquid trickling into his mouth, he started to panic. He struggled desperately. He didn't want to take anything that could potentially harm him.

But the pain was so terrible. His headache was killing him. And his wrists were hurting again, like they'd been hurting ever since-

Ever since what?

He couldn't remember.

**What did you give up?** The voice demanded.

**What are you talking about? **He was becoming confused. He couldn't tell who was speaking to him. He didn't know what they wanted. He just wanted them to go away.

**Draco- **It was a feminine voice, he noted, and he vaguely remembered it from somewhere. **There has to be a reason that the runes failed. What happened when you stumbled in on us? What he want you to give up? **On second thought, the voice was definitely familiar to him. In fact, he knew that voice like he knew the unwanted tattoo on his left arm. He tried to remember a name, and with that name, a face...but he just couldn't think correctly.

His head pounded.

**Go away.** Draco complained.

But now someone else was bothering him. "Please take the potion. It will make the pain go away."

"Do you swear?" He asked groggily.

"Yes, sweetheart. You're safe at Hogwarts. Nothing can harm you now."

He tried to move, but he felt so weak. "I don't believe you."

"You have my promise."

"Make a...make a Wizard's Oath." He wasn't thinking correctly. He had no idea what he was saying.

"Take this first, dear."

Merlin, that voice was annoying.

Tired of fighting, he nodded and opened his mouth. The concoction went down his throat like an arrow, scorching everything away, including conscious thought. He blacked out again.

...

**Draco? DRACO! **

The voice in his head shouted uselessly into the darkness.

Draco didn't respond. He couldn't hear it.

* * *

"So, I'll leave you to deal with these two young ladies." And with that, Armando Dippet strode away, leaving two witches with dumbstruck expressions on their faces staring after him.

Dumbledore nodded at the two witches standing protectively in front of the entrance to the Infirmary.

"So what are we supposed to do with you?" He mused out loud.

One of the witches shrugged.

He adjusted his small glasses as he squinted at the two witches. He kept the expression on his face mildly interested while he racked his mind for any memory of these two students. He was quite sure that he'd never seen them before. He was also quite sure that they were far from the ordinary witches that they appeared to be.

He gave them a quick once-over, but it only served to increase his curiosity. Both witches looked simply exhausted. Their skin was smudged and dirtied and muddied, and he could see numerous shallow scratches and bruises on their arms and faces and uncovered skin, but they didn't seem to notice or care the state that they were in. Their eyes were haunted, full of desperation...and peculiarly empty. For a second, his heart almost twinged in empathy as he looked into those prematurely-lined faces. Their clothing, which was in terrible condition, was also strange: definitely Muggle in origin, but not within any of the current Muggle fashions that he was aware of. (Although it was not common knowledge, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore subscribed to several Muggle fashion magazines.) And then there was the defensive posture with which they held themselves, and the way their wand hands hovered near their pockets.

Strange, very strange. And suspicious, to say the least.

The two witches glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes, and at once, he knew that he was missing something between them. Something important.

"How old are you again?" Dumbledore's bright blue eyes peered searchingly into theirs. They both avoided his gaze. And again, there was that shared look that Dumbledore was beginning to despise.

"Eighteen." The brunette said after a short pause.

"I'm seventeen, sir." The redhead added.

"What about your names?" He tried, but they just looked away without answering. "Look me in the eye when I'm talking."

Both witches unwillingly raised their eyes.

_Legilimens._ Dumbledore pinned them with a dagger-like gaze.

Instantly he felt his vision darken; in his mind's eye, he saw himself floating in a dark haze. The mind was like a treasure chest, hidden inside this haze. His resolve hardened. All he needed to do, was to penetrate the fog, and break the lock-

He tried to pierce into their thoughts...searching for a weak link, a weakness to take advantage of. Suddenly, his eyes flew open in astonishment as he felt his spell shatter. One minute he was standing there with full concentration, waiting for their secrets to flow into his mind, the next, he'd been thrown out of their minds with such force that he was actually hurled back until he hit the opposite wall with a muffled thump. His head knocked against a moving portrait, and his glasses clattered to the floor.

The portrait complained loudly as Dumbledore winced, bending down to retrieve his spectacles.

Numbly, he got back to his feet, gently setting the glasses over his nose. He gingerly touched the back of his head. Already, the pain was fading. It was of little consequence; what really worried him was how the girls had nullified his attack. There was no way they could have blocked his Legilimency unless they'd already trained against a wizard of his caliber. But Masters of Legilimency were quite rare.

So how had they done it?

He started to speak, but was interrupted by one of the witches.

"You had no right to do that!" The witch on the right glared at him, her brown eyes alight with fury. She flicked a strand of fiery hair to the side and her wand hand twitched towards her pocket. "That can't be legal-"

"Please don't try that on us again." The other witch said calmly, cutting off the red-haired witch's tirade. Despite the dirt on her face, her hazel eyes were very bright, with flecks of gold in them. Her messy brown hair curled at her shoulders in ringlets, and they bounced on her shoulders when she shook her head impatiently. "You'll find that it has no effect on us whatsoever. Besides, we're not here to cause any trouble, Professor Dumbledore."

"Then what is your purpose here?" He inquired, his mind working busily.

So they knew his name. He did have quite a bit of fame in magical Britain and even in the world beyond, but to recognize him on first sight, and to have no doubts of who he was...it was very strange indeed. Furthermore, the way that they had spoken to him indicated familiarity. They were an enigma, a puzzle that sorely needed solving. They'd already showed unusual strength in throwing him out of their minds. Who knew what other abilities those girls were hiding?

Who knew what their intentions were?

"We're not supposed to be here at all, Professor." The brunette said. She hesitated for a moment. "We might need your help to get out of here."

His expression was unwavering as he considered them, his eyes as hard as chips of ice over his full-moon glasses.

"Why should I help you?"

Both witches greeted his rhetorical question with twin expressions of open-mouthed surprise. After a second, they turned and began to whisper to each other. Dumbledore tried to eavesdrop on what they were saying to each other, but it was difficult because their conversation was mainly nonverbal, communicated through covert glances and minute gestures of the hand.

Suddenly, the brown-haired witch was frantically shaking her head. "No, Ginny," she said, her voice rising. "We can't risk doing that. It'll change everything."

"How would you know?" Ginny challenged.

"What will change?" Dumbledore asked.

Both witches ignored him in favor of arguing with each other.

"Don't tell him!"

"But he'll help us find a way out of this." Ginny insisted.

"Don't count on it." Hermione said acidly.

Ginny tugged on a lock of her bright red hair and paused, her eyes darting between her friend and Dumbledore. "Professor, we'll tell you everything. Just...just please believe us."

"Of course I shall believe you." He nodded, hoping to set her worries at ease. He disliked doing so, but occasionally he did lie and break promises in the name of the greater good. Either way, he wouldn't completely believe them until they submitted themselves to a questioning by Veritaserum, which they most likely wouldn't consent to.

"Will you help us?" Ginny asked uncertainly.

His smile was encouraging. "I will help you to the best of my ability."

Ginny took a deep breath.

"No! Don't!" Hermione warned.

"We're-" Ginny started.

Hermione whipped out her wand.

"Stupefy." She whispered. Caught off-guard, Dumbledore barely had any time to reach for his wand before the charm hit him with unusual power, blasting him across the hall to smash into the wall. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

The portrait, once again an unintentional victim of the attack, scolded the witches loudly. Both of them ignored it.

* * *

Ginny looked at Hermione accusingly. "What have you done? Now he'll never believe us! He could have _helped_ us!"

Hermione just stared across the hallway at Dumbledore, not quite sure of what she had just done. "I-I-"

"Well?" Ginny's face was flushed irately, her hands at her hips. She reminded Hermione strongly of Molly Weasley.

"I didn't want- I didn't mean to-" Hermione shook her head slowly. She wanted to tell Ginny everything, but the words just wouldn't come to her mouth. There was no way to describe how it just hadn't felt right, telling the Professor of the countless secrets of the future. There was no way to describe the way her intuition had warned her that this Dumbledore was not a man to be trusted.

"What are you doing?" A low, smooth voice broke the silence.

Instinctively, Ginny looked around for the source of the voice. When she realized who had spoken, her face immediately turned bone-white, and then she fainted before Hermione could catch her.

"_You_." Hermione's eyes widened, and then narrowed. She didn't faint, but her knees wobbled, putting stress on her newly healed leg. She sank back, leaning against the door to the Infirmary.

She thought, for a split second, that her heart had stopped, literally ceased beating, when she recognized the figure standing there.

Hermione's lips formed unwilling words; she kept her eyes on him, watching him like a scared rabbit, staring into the ruby eyes of a poisonous snake. She was prey, and she was watching the person who would become her greatest predator.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

* * *

**A/N: So hi there. This is my first foray into the Harry Potter Fandom. Since I've been reading so many Tom Riddle/Hermione fanfictions recently, I've decided to do my take on the whole time-traveling concept, which is already probably overused, but whatever. (There are probably far more original ideas for the ways that Tom and Hermione can meet, but I'm too lazy to think of any at the moment...anyways, the real challenge for this ship is mainly characterization.) Anyways...we're up for a LONG JOURNEY, so buckle in your seat-belts (are there seat-belts on brooms?) and enjoy! :)**

**Also, thanks for reading. **


	2. Mistakes

"And who might you be?" Tom Riddle inquired.

Hermione tried to control her emotions at the sight of him, but couldn't keep the hatred from racing through her veins. Here was the monster who had murdered her parents, who had murdered Harry's parents, who had murdered-

She shied away from those thoughts. Rationally, Hermione knew that she had to treat him like any other student or else he'd be suspicious. She had to treat him like he wasn't a murderer, wasn't a criminal-

He hadn't done it yet, she tried to convince herself. He wasn't a monster yet.

Unless he'd already killed his father.

Had he done it already?

She couldn't remember.

"I believe I asked you a question." His voice was quiet, she noted, not openly threatening, but holding a hint of malice. But the expression on his face was sincere and smiling. He was handsome, confident, incredibly dangerous...and he knew it.

He reminded her of a grinning spider, just waiting to entangle a helpless fly.

Hermione froze, not knowing what to say. Almost as an afterthought, she lowered her eyes, remembering Voldemort's propensity for violating other people's thoughts. If he was thrown out of her mind the way Dumbledore had been, he'd surely become curious about her, and by extension, all of her friends, including Harry. And she had to protect Harry.

She'd failed to do that once already; she wouldn't, _couldn't_, fail again.

She bit her tongue; a bitter metallic taste flooded her mouth.

"Well?" He was coming closer, his posture confident, his movements lithe and graceful.

Instinctively, she tried to take a step back, but her back hit the solid wall.

"I'm j-just a transfer student." She was disgusted to hear herself stammer while she scrambled for a cover story. "Who are you?"

She looked up at him upon hearing his approach. It was a mistake. She was caught in his captivating gaze, helpless to break the eye contact.

"I'm the Head Boy here. Welcome to Hogwarts." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"No, I mean, what is your _name_?" Hermione asked.

"Tom Riddle." He stepped past Dumbledore's body without so much as a glance at the fallen professor by his feet, keeping his eyes on Hermione's face. "That was quite a powerful charm you cast."

Hermione frowned. "He...he provoked us first." _Merlin_. She groaned inwardly. What a mess she had made by stunning Dumbledore. It was an uncharacteristically reckless move on Hermione's part, something that she wouldn't have ordinarily done without thinking through the consequences first.

Riddle raised one perfect eyebrow. "And that was cause for such a violent response?"

That was a loaded question if she'd ever heard one. She snapped her mouth shut, afraid of saying the wrong thing. What was the right thing to answer? What could she possibly say to justify her actions? She couldn't claim that she _hadn't_ stunned Professor Dumbledore: the evidence was right in front of her, and he had caught her in the act red-handed. She wondered if Ginny would have any clever ideas of what to do; Ginny had more experience in getting out of tight situations.

_Ginny_! She realized that Ginny was still slumped on the floor next to her.

"I don't have time for your questions." Hermione said, realizing a way to escape his interrogation. "I need to help her."

Before she could protest, Riddle drew his wand and pointed it at Ginny. "I can help."

"No!" A cry escaped Hermione's lips. She flung herself protectively in front of Ginny's body, realizing too late that this certainly wasn't how a normal student would have reacted. But by the time her brain caught up with her body, she'd already done it without thinking. She cursed under her breath. It was too late to do anything about that now.

Riddle looked at her curiously.

"I don't- I'm sorry." Hermione whispered. How could she explain her reaction? It wouldn't make any sense to him, how she had hurried to protect her friend from the seemingly friendly and innocent Head Boy of Hogwarts. She closed her eyes briefly. "I...we've been through a tough time. I'm just a little...jumpy."

"I see." His expression was unreadable.

"I'm sorry." Hermione repeated unwillingly, before turning her attention to Ginny. _"_Rennervate_."_

Ginny's eyes opened immediately and she woke with a gasp. As her face regained color, she seemed to remember where she was, and began looking around frantically. "Is he...is he still here?"

**Yes, he is. Don't act so afraid of him.** Hermione helped Ginny to her feet, and steadied her when she swayed lightly. **Our reactions are making him suspicious. If he's suspicious, he'll be obsessed about finding out our secrets. Eventually, he'll find out about Harry, and it will be... **She searched for the right word. **Disastrous. Catastrophic. **

** He's a monster. A bloody monster. **Ginny thought vehemently. **I can't just forgive him for-**

** I know what he did to you, Ginny, but to him, that hasn't happened yet. Just pretend...just pretend that he's another student. He'll be keeping an eye out for anything strange in Hogwarts, and we've doubtless already managed to attract his attention. We don't need any more attention from him than we already have. We can't risk changing the timeline.**

** But aren't we already changing the time line, just by being here? **Ginny wasn't staring at the younger form of Voldemort, but though him, as though she wasn't really seeing him at all: just something else, in the distance beyond him. Her face had gone pale again.

** It doesn't matter. We can't help it.** Hermione told Ginny. **We'll rebuild our strength and get out of here as soon as possible. And in the meantime, we'll try not to cause any more changes. It shouldn't be so hard to blend in with the student population here. **She decided not to mention that unfortunately, one of those students was dangerous and unstable and their future enemy, and now that he had seen them, it would be hard to get back under his radar.

**Why don't we just kill him now, before he commits any crimes? **Ginny suggested.

A polite cough distracted Hermione from answering the question. She looked up and barely managed to keep herself from flinching. Tom was standing right next to her, his face full of false concern, twirling his wand in those long, elegant fingers. A memory flashed behind her eyes: _those spindly, spidery fingers, stretched tightly over bone, the shivers wracking her body,_ _and the sharp, cold wand was pointed right at her head, and he was saying, in that high, cruel voice of his, "Avada-"_

She blinked, shaking away the memory.

Riddle was still speaking. "Will that be all, or do you need more help?"

"We're fine...thanks." Hermione managed. At least Riddle had given up on interrogating her.

"Alright then." Riddle paused. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss...?"

Hermione hesitated. She should use a nickname. Her name was unusual, ergo, it was easily remembered, and any information that was given to Tom now was knowledge that he could make use of in the future. But what could she call herself, if not Hermione?

But before she could make a decision, Ginny answered for her. "Oh, that's Hermione. And I'm Ginny." She sounded casual; neutral- she was a far better actor than Hermione had given her credit for. She gave no sign at all of her fear of Voldemort.

"Miss Hermione." Riddle nodded. He seemed preoccupied. "And Miss Ginny. I'm sorry, but I really must be going. If you have any questions about Hogwarts, you can ask me or the Head Girl." He peered down at a simple silver watch at his wrist. As he did this, light glanced off a ring he was wearing: a golden ring, set with a heavy black stone.

Hermione recognized it at once: it was the Gaunt family ring. And it was _right there, _right on the middle finger of his left hand.

So he'd killed already, and walked away without remorse.

"Nice to meet you." Ginny said, her voice cheery and false.

"Nice to meet you, Riddle." Hermione forced herself to say.

But he was already leaving.

The bitter taste was back in her mouth as she watched Tom Riddle Jr. exit the hallway, but she chose not to linger on depressing thoughts. The present situation was the most important one; she'd deal with that first.

Hermione glanced at Ginny and gritted her teeth.** "**By telling him our real names, you might have just signed our death warrants."

** "**Oh." Came Ginny's not-so-eloquent reply. **Sorry.**

** "**It's fine." Hermione said. "Are _you _okay?"

"Sure." Ginny shrugged nonchalantly, but Hermione could still feel the fear and disgust and helplessness that she had felt at the sight of Riddle.

"Really?" She asked, dubious. "We can't hide these things anymore, remember?"

Ginny smiled. "I know. But we've got more important things to worry about."

"Nothing's more important than keeping all of us alive." Hermione said, but she knew that when it came down to it, nothing was more important than keeping _Harry_ alive, and they all knew it. They'd lay down their lives for him in a second if that was what it took-

"What about Dumbledore?" Ginny said.

Hermione looked at the fallen wizard and then back to Ginny. She effortlessly switched over to telepathic communication. The conversation they were having was just too important for eavesdroppers to overhear. **We can't just leave Dumbledore here. Merlin knows how lucky we were that no one else saw us attack him.**

** Except for Riddle.** Ginny pointed out. **So what do we do?**

Hermione considered the possibilities. **We'll have to use ****Obliviate**** on him.** **I'll erase his memories and make him think that his ****Legilimency**** attack backfired on him. We'll act like concerned students. **

Ginny nodded. **So are we going to tell him where we came from?**

**I'm sorry, Ginny, but we can't let him know about the future. It's simply too dangerous**.** Also, we need a cover story.** Hermione paused. I** already told Riddle that we were transfer students...Grindelwald was active around this time, wasn't he? We'll say we were escaping from him, and request sanctuary in Hogwarts until we can escape from this time. And that explains our arrival, too! Our bruises and injuries. We can say that we were attacked by Grindelwald's followers.**

** We don't speak any German at all. **Ginny's brows were furrowed.

"There's too many holes in our cover story." She sighed. **I haven't had any time to think through this at all. And Draco and Harry are in terrible condition. Well, we'll work with what we have. I'm sure there are language learning spells. Worst comes to worst...another ****Obliviate**** won't hurt.**

**Alright then. Go for it. **Ginny responded.

Hermione strode over to Dumbledore and stared down at him. Her wand swished through the air in complicated, practiced movements. Behind her, she sensed Ginny watching intently.

"Obliviate. Rennervate_._"

Dumbledore stirred, blinked.

"Oh, Professor! Are you alright?" Ginny's voice was shrill, infused with just the right amount of worry.

"-Professor, what happened?" Hermione said quickly. "We thought-"

"-gave us such a scare!"

"-blasted right off your feet-"

"Pardon me, girls." They both fell silent at once as Dumbledore slowly stood. He shook his head. A confused expression crossed his face.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Ginny asked.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "What were we speaking of again?"

Hermione hid a smirk, and explained.

* * *

Harry dreamed in a feverish haze. He wasn't sure where he was, only that he was in a soft bed, and his nightmares just wouldn't leave him alone. Sometimes he thrashed around and his blankets became tangled. Sometimes he woke for short amounts of time, his head throbbing and his throat choked with screams unuttered, but for most of the time he slept fitfully.

Nothing had changed.

And yet, everything was different.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. I have a lot of exciting plot ideas in store for what's coming up later, I promise! And I'm editing all the time so I might come back and add a new scene in this chapter. I hope I've gotten Tom's characterization right; if I haven't, then please enlighten me on how I can fix him!**

**If you enjoy this story, please leave a review. There's nothing like the feeling of getting a response from readers. ****Thanks!**


	3. Complications

Hermione gently closed the door to the Headmaster Dippet's office and started towards the direction of the hospital wing. Besides her, Ginny silently matched her hurried pace. Neither girl said a word to the other as they walked through the empty hallways. The paintings gave them curious glares as they passed, but Hermione gave them no notice.

She yawned, rubbing her tired eyes. She was exhausted and drained, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to rest. If she did, the subconscious horrors she had witnessed in her past would claw their way back to the surface of her mind, in the form of terrible nightmares.

She knew that Ginny suffered from the same affliction.

As she walked, Hermione mulled over their current situation. Granted, they were all alive, and they were even at the right place, but that was most likely a fluke. They had gotten very, very lucky, and Hermione wondered inwardly whether Ginny knew how close they had come to not making it. To never even existing at all.

Messing with time was a very tricky business, and for the past twelve lonely years she had spent day after day searching for the runes that would fix everything. The research had nearly killed her, had resulted in Ron's death (it still hurt to think about it), and had taken from her precious time with the few family and friends that she had left. And it had all gone wrong, impossibly, even with all the careful planning that she'd done.

She needed to figure out how to get them back. She needed to keep the younger version of Lord Voldemort from finding out about who they were. She needed to investigate more time traveling possibilities. She needed to keep the rest of them alive. Hermione had so many things to keep track of, so many things to worry about.

She needed to keep her priorities in mind.

Her first priority: _Harry_. She knew he was alive; she'd have felt something if he were dead. But his condition worried her. She'd felt no thoughts beneath the bond that connected all four of the time-travelers now. Even now she could feel Ginny's thoughts and emotions shifting, could sense Draco's nightmares, but she felt nothing from Harry.

Her steps subconsciously quickened. **I hope Harry is okay.**

** "**He will be. He's got to be." Ginny said fiercely.

Hermione gave Ginny a grateful smile.

She'd forgotten that Ginny could read her mind too. Hermione closed off her mind partially, just enough to sever Ginny's connection to her thoughts, but not enough to block off all her emotions. Ginny was Hermione's second priority: she was so much more than just Harry's wife. She was Harry's anchor, and more importantly, one of the biggest reasons that he'd agreed to come on this crazy journey. Without Ginny, he'd be unable or unwilling to keep going on with Hermione's plan.

But of course, everyone all had different reasons for coming back in the first place. Ginny wanted to save her family. Draco hadn't known what he was getting himself into, but Hermione knew that he would want to save his family, too. Harry wanted...well, Harry was a bit too complicated for Hermione to figure out at the moment. And Hermione just wanted to save Ron, and the future in general.

So now they were all dangerous: dangerous to each other and dangerous to the future. Every action they made here, in the past, could cause a cascade of consequences, a veritable waterfall of terrible errors that built up one by one. It was a paradox. The trip to this particular time period shouldn't even have been possible, especially with Draco's last minute addition to the runes. Yet it had worked.

And they were here.

The question now, was how to get back.

* * *

_ "Expelliarmus." She said, and his wand soared from his nerveless fingers into her outstretched hand. __"Incarcerous." _

_Draco stumbled and fell: his wrists and ankles were bound, and even though he struggled against the bonds that chafed against his skin, he really couldn't do anything except watch as his mother approached him._

_ "No, don't do this." Draco begged her. "Mum-"_

_ "I must." She said in a whisper, looking up into his face with a strange expression, a kind of quiet desperation that he had never seen before on her face. "For your own good. Your father and I, we cannot escape him. There is already no hope for us. But for you..." _

_ He felt a stab of love, a stab of pain. It was all his fault, wasn't it? He'd failed; his wand had lowered at the last moment, and now there was no way out- he quelled the urge to cry as he stared at his mother, his hands balled into fists._

_ "I won't let him." Draco said softly, shaking his head. "He can't do this, we're valuable to him..." He knew he was babbling like a fool, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, couldn't seem to stop the words from pouring out in a continuous stream, and anyways his status as a pureblood seemed to matter less and less as the seconds ticked by, each of them lasting for an eternity. _

_All this- it wouldn't have happened if he had just been able to kill the bumbling old fool. He had condemned his family, it was all his fault; if only he could go back and redo everything, if only he could right this wrong. But he couldn't. It was over. He would lose them forever now, all because of a few seconds of hesitation. His eyes burned, and he lost his precious control as his tears spilled over and streaked down his face. He lowered his face in shame, not wanting his mother to see him crying._

_"I'm sorry."_

_ "It is not your fault." She said in a fierce whisper, guessing what he was thinking of. "I would not have seen him make a murderer of my son." _

_She embraced him, like she had so many times during his childhood, and for a moment he could remember a life when he had still been innocent, when he had not yet began to hate himself. But there were nuances, differences in this embrace: she was shorter than him now, her platinum blond hair streaked with barely noticeable gray. Her breaths were shallow: quick and scared, as she caressed his face softly and planted a kiss on his forehead. _

_"Here, take this, and give it to them when you arrive. There will be a portkey on the other side of the floo. It's the Black family tapestry; it will take you somewhere safe." Her slender fingers dug into her purse and withdrew with an envelope._

_ "No, Mum, don't do this!" Draco knew what she was going to do and he would be damned if he couldn't stop her: he'd rather die along with them than face a life without them, and he was about to say that when she smiled sorrowfully and kissed his cheek, slipping the envelope into his coat pocket. He watched helplessly. If only he had his wand! But she'd disarmed him already._

_ "We can escape together." He grasped at any idea, anything to convince his mother to accompany him to safety._

_ "We've been cursed, your father and I." His mother explained. "It will only be a matter of time before we die, too. The curse is set to activate at his command, regardless of where we are. We cannot escape him now. I have been told that the death is unbearably painful...but we will be brave, as long as you are safe. Our deaths will occupy the Dark Lord; he'll want to make an example of us, and it will buy precious time for your escape."_

_"But-" Draco tried to speak._

_ "12 Grimmauld Place." His mother said, tossing a handful of floo dust into the fire._

_ The doors in the room had been padlocked and chained shut, but now Draco could hear the chains rattling. Someone outside pounded on the door with increasing force, shouting something that Draco didn't bother to hear. "I'm not leaving without you, Mother!"_

_ She shook her head mutely and levitated him to the floo, tears dripping from her blue eyes and splattering on the dusty floor. _

_Before this, he'd only seen his mother cry once in his entire life: the night he'd been marked._

_ "I love you," she said. "Don't forget-"_

_ The doors burst open, shattering into splinters that burst into immediate flame. A swarm of masked Death Eaters stormed inside the small rooms, their wands pointed at Draco and his mother. Draco scanned the room but only found pairs of identically steely eyes staring back at him._

_ "Crucio!" Someone shouted, and Draco slammed into the ground as his mother's spell released him, and he heard screaming, and then he realized it was his own, and then, even more horribly, he recognized his mother's anguished screams of pain. And every single nerve ending was seared, split apart, and then it was over and he returned to himself on the ground right next to the floo, panting with his face pressed into the floor and more unwilling tears leaking from his eyes. Everything suddenly seemed so unreal, unsubstantial. He looked at his wrists, saw the lack of confinements, and knew that he could move: his mother's Incarcerous hadn't held under the torture._

_ Draco looked for his mother. She was on her knees in the dust, her fine blond hair mussed and her eyes wild. Shaken, weakened, but still alive. He felt an inexplicable sense of relief._

_ "So we have a traitor." The torturer stepped forward with a familiar throaty laugh. Draco strained his eyes, glimpsing the Death Eater's wild black curls, cascading down her back and reflecting the green fire that roared merrily in the fireplace. "The Dark Lord will not be pleased."_

_ His mother's voice was pleading. "Bella. Please..."_

_"Cissy, I warned you-"_

_"Please, Bella! Nothing is more important than family, and blood is our bond-"_

_Bellatrix stared down at them, her black eyes glittering oddly in the leaping firelight. _

_The Death Eater standing beside Bellatrix sneered. "Let the Dark Lord punish these traitors. They deserve it!"_

_ Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, her mouth contorting with fury. Draco flinched, but she spun towards the masked man, raising her wand, her voice rising to a shriek. "SHUT UP! Did I tell you to speak?" Her wand slashed through the air. "Crucio!" _

_ Gasping this opportunity, Draco acted. He ran to his mother and grabbed her and held onto her tightly as he twisted on the spot, vanishing into midair. He became nothing more than a million particles scattered in the wind. And he wished to be anywhere but here, anyplace else that was somewhere safe._

* * *

Draco woke from his nightmare and realized that his own tears had saturated his pillow and his face was sticky with salt. Sweaty hair was plastered to his face, and he felt weak, emaciated, drained. He opened his eyes and stared blearily at the ceiling. Draco gritted his teeth, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes, ignoring the sharp pain in his wrist.

He'd survived this long, but without the people who had constructed his life with theirs, woven themselves into his fabric of reality, it wasn't like living. It was more like he'd been a wraith, a ghost floating between the reaches of life and death. When his family and all he'd ever known had been torn away, he hadn't even wanted to keep living. But surprisingly, it had been Granger who had convinced him that there was still a reason to keep going.

He closed his eyes, letting the memory swim into his front of his mind.

* * *

_Draco had been sitting next to the window, watching the snow, contemplating his fate and his future, when he'd heard the door creak open._

_"What do you want?" He asked her, knowing without turning around that it was the bossy Muggleborn witch._

_"There is another way." She said without preamble. "Instead of sitting here and rotting away, Malfoy, why don't you-"_

_ "Why don't you get the hell out of here?" He interrupted her. He didn't want pity, least of all from her. "Look, Granger, I don't need you meddling in my life. I have enough to deal with as it is."_

_ Her voice hardened, became as cold as ice. "Fine."_

_ "Just leave me alone." He said, looking steadfastly away from her, his eyes fixed on the foggy glass windowpanes and the snowy winter scene outside._

_ She exhaled, exasperated, and he could hear her footsteps murmur across the floor as she paced away from him. "You're not living, Malfoy," she said finally. "You're waiting to die."_

_ **So what if I am? What does it matter to you?** Unwittingly, he touched his left forearm, where that despicable mark was forever tattooed onto his skin._

_ "Sod off, Granger." He told her._

_ "You should get up and do something useful. Avenge their death. Nothing's ever going to change if **you** don't change first." Great. Now Granger was lecturing him._

_ "Shove it." He responded. __"I don't want your advice, I don't want you here, and most of all I don't want your pity!"_

_ Granger continued prattling on in that utterly obnoxious voice of hers. She was so very close to crossing that invisible line. "Tell me then, what did your parents die for? Did they die so you could waste away in an empty room? Did they die for nothing? Was their sacrifice **meaningless**?"_

_The words hit him hard, like a physical blow, leaving him breathless. His throat felt oddly constricted, and blood boiled furiously in his veins. Draco jumped to his feet restlessly, unable to sit still. But instead of turning and confronting her, he strode up directly to the window and glared out. __"You don't know anything." He spat. His hands were balled up into fists, his sharp fingernails biting deeply into his palms. He itched to hit her, to make her take back her statement. But it wouldn't be wise, and he had never been one to let his emotions control him._

_ "I thought you were a survivor. You-"_

_ His precious control shattered. She didn't know anything about what he had gone through. She didn't know **anything** about him, and yet she had the nerve to judge him!_

_ "-should know better-"_

_ "GET OUT." He roared._

_ "I thought you loved your family more than that."_

_ Silence. She said nothing more._

_ He shoved his hands into his pockets, attempting to retrieve his wand, before remembering that they had confiscated it before locking him into this infernal room._

_ "Get out." He said, his voice very barely shaking. "Before I kill you with my bare hands."_

_ The door closed with a audible click as she left the room. Draco waited five minutes before he finally turned, glancing at the closed door with a sigh. His anger was gone, leaving him empty and cold. What did he have to be angry about? _

_Granger was right, and he'd known it all along._

* * *

Draco awoke abruptly. Somehow, without even realizing it, he had fallen asleep. He looked around to see what had woken him, but there was a white curtain around his bed, drawn closed to maintain his privacy and those of the other occupants in the Infirmary.

Then he heard the voices, voices that he instantly recognized.

**What's wrong with him?**

** I think he's in a coma.**

Ah. It was Granger and the female Weasel. They were obviously talking about Potter, who must have gotten injured, just like him. He looked down at his wrists, which were wrapped with gauze and medical tape. He racked his memory, but couldn't remember what had caused the wide gashes on both of his wrists, cuts that hadn't yet healed despite the amount of potions that the Healer had poured down his throat earlier.

**We should talk to the Healer.**

** She's already done all that she could. And his life is not in danger. Just his mind.**

** What do you mean?**

An slight sigh from Granger. **Haven't you experimented with the _bond_? You can tell he's not suffering from physical pain. And if he was about to die, we'd definitely know. We'd probably feel it.**

** Let me try. **A pause. **But there's a barrier! He's blocking me. I can't tell what he's thinking at all.**

**_ That's_ what worries me. **

_Of course!_ Draco realized that he wasn't hearing their voices out loud. It was all in his head. The telepathic bond had formed somehow, when they had...traveled through time. Draco hadn't been a part of Granger's plans, but as soon as he had seen Hogwarts, he'd been intelligent enough to figure it out.

But something had gone wrong. Obviously his presence had caused a change in the runes. He remembered Hermione's voice: _**"The ritual...it didn't work correctly. We're in the wrong time."**_

**Draco's awake. **Hermione's bossy voice in his head interrupted Draco's train of thought.

**Can he use the _bond_?**

Another pause. **He talked to us earlier, remember? Before he collapsed and we brought him and Harry up to the castle. He should still be able to, but then again...everything went wrong, didn't it?**

** "**We all _survived_." The female Weasel said out loud.

"We were all incredibly lucky." Granger replied.

The other girl's voice was tentative. "If we can travel back in time, we should be able to go forward...right?"

"Perhaps."

Draco reached out cautiously with his mind. He could feel the bond, the emotions that leaked through the link: Ginny's pain, her panic and her sorrow. On the other hand, Hermione was calm, but underneath it all he sensed a maelstrom of anxiety, hatred, and fear.

He drew back a little, surprised at the overwhelming strength of their emotions, washing over him like a tidal wave.

**Done browsing through our deepest emotions? **Hermione asked sardonically.

**It's not like I have anything better to do.**

Her mental voice sounded amused. **The _bond_ takes some getting used to. That's what I call it, this mental connection. We, well, ****us**_** three**_**- Ginny, Harry, and I- had months of preparation. You were a last minute addition, so I'm not sure how that worked out. Are you alright?**

Without warning, Hermione opened the curtain around his bed. Draco blinked a few times as his vision adjusted to the sudden influx of sunlight. Behind her, he could see Ginny staring helplessly at Harry, who lay unmoving on another hospital bed.

**So how do you feel? **Hermione asked again.

**I've been better. **Draco eyed his bandaged wrist. **What did that spell really do?**

**It was a ritual, really. And it was very complicated, I can't really explain all of it to you now, and you wouldn't understand anyway. Messing with time has unpredictable consequences. **Hermione pulled one of Draco's wrists towards her and deftly removed the gauze. She examined his wrist critically. **But here's the gist of it: w****e each had to give up something precious to us to go back in time. None of us can remember what we gave up. I hoped you might be able to...can you remember? **She asked, looking at Draco in askance.

Draco shook his head. **No.  
**

Hermione nodded. **We weren't supposed to end up here. We were actually aiming for our first year in Hogwarts, 1991. Since Voldemort is currently attending school here, we're obviously in the wrong time period. It's a paradox, we shouldn't have been able to go back before we were born. Everything went wrong when we added you to the equation.** She shook her head with a bitter smile. **Well, it wasn't your fault, technically. You _did_ save us. **

**...How did the Dark Lord find you?**

**We had a traitor.**

**Who was it?**

**He's dead now.**

Draco persisted. **Who was it?**

** It doesn't matter.** Hermione refused to elaborate. She finally released her hold on Draco's wrist, a pensive look on her face. **Besides**, **I think I know what you gave up.**

_Clever witch._ Granger was trying to change the subject. He took the bait, the present subject matter not being important enough to pursue. **What did I lose?**

** Most of your blood.** Hermione indicated his cuts.** The Healer gave you seven doses of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Any more than that and there would have had serious side effects...you're probably still feeling dizzy and weak, am I right?**

Draco nodded. His neck had begun to ache, so he crossed his arms and stared up at the ceiling. It was easier than turning his head to look at Hermione.

**You're still anemic. It's a miracle that you're awake at all. **Hermione looked thoughtful. **I had no idea you valued your blood so much.**

** I don't anymore. **Draco gingerly touched the still-healing wound. It stung like fury.** The cuts haven't healed. The Healer gave me potions this morning, while I was still delirious, but I don't think they helped that much. It should be nothing by a scar by now.**

**Those were the Blood-Replenishing Potions. Other healing potions would interfere with it, so that's all she gave you. **Hermione explained. **Don't worry.** **The cut will heal.**

**I've been meaning to ask you,** Draco began, **W****hy are we so physically young here?**

**Possibly because we haven't been born yet.** Hermione said, a note of bitter sarcasm in her tone. **Either way, it wasn't planned for. We were fully prepared to become eleven year-olds again, for the sake of...of our mission. ****But as for our actual age _here_, it's hard to tell. We look to be about in our late teens, so I told Dumbledore that I was eighteen and Ginny was seventeen. So you're eighteen as well, as is Harry.**

Draco stared at his hands in search of his favorite scars. He found none. He rolled up his dirty left sleeve, disappointed to see that that the ugly black marking had remained. **I still have the Dark Mark, but none of my old scars, not even the ones I've had since I was a child.**

**Maybe the difference is that the Dark Mark has been branded into your soul. I don't think it can be removed- **Hermione was interrupted when Ginny suddenly began to sob.

**Ginny!** Hermione hurried to her friend's side. **What's wrong?**

Draco could hear Ginny begin to reply, but then their mental connection was suddenly closed to him. Both witches had shut him out. He glared at the ceiling for a moment (it was easier than craning his neck to see them). He could hear Ginny's cries becoming softer, as if she was trying to muffle them, but he had no idea what was transpiring between the two girls.

He closed his eyes to the depressing world around him and pretended to be asleep. He could wait for a more thorough explanation later.

* * *

Tom Riddle had a satisfying breakfast. Afterward, he went upstairs to work in his private room for several hours on his latest project before heading down to lunch alone. It was Christmas break. This year the castle was unusually quiet. No one had remained at Hogwarts except for the unlucky few who had no home besides Hogwarts. The castle was virtually empty, and it suited Tom. He could work on whatever he felt like doing, without constantly being interrupted. He could avoid the strain of socializing with those lesser than him, like the barely magical beings who didn't deserve to be in this school, or even those pureblooded fools who were only fit to be mindless sheep. They would always be the followers, and he the leader, and they didn't even know it.

He thought back to the intriguing scene he'd seen this morning. The two girls had managed to take down Dumbledore. Even though the professor had been caught by surprise, it was still a noteworthy achievement. Tom narrowed his eyes as he remembered their faces. The brunette had been completely unremarkable. She had been pretty enough, but there was nothing outstanding about her. The redhead, on the other hand, had possessed startling hair the exact same shade as fire- a color he knew that he'd seen before. He just couldn't seem to recall from where.

Either way, he was utterly certain that they weren't Hogwarts students, because he knew every single student in his year, if not in the school. The brunette, Hermione, had surely been lying about their origin. He hadn't even been able to get a clear reading of them; their eyes had never quite met his. And the way that Hermione had thrown herself in front of the Ginny when he'd reached for his wand...

He stilled suddenly in the middle of his work, leaving a drop of ink on his neat handwriting. He hissed in annoyance and carefully blotted the paper.

Could the girls have heard something about him? He had a spotless record at this school, and he didn't like to consider the possibility that one of his loyal followers had turned traitor. Still, maybe he would discipline them when they returned from vacation. Perhaps there were things that his followers could learn about the importance of keeping secrets.

In the meantime, he'd keep a close eye on the newcomers.

* * *

**A/N: School is finally ending, so I've written a longer chapter here! Updates are about to get more frequent. :) ****I'm beginning to expose what happened in their past, bit by bit.**

**Thanks to all those who reviewed for the last two chapters: _CharlotteBlossom, tunisia-sense, Aerieada, ShimmeringWater, dragomirs, Sai, and Weird-Chik2! _Your reviews were much appreciated.**

**I hope to include more of Riddle in the next chapter.**

**Please leave a review if you enjoy it! Reviews definitely motivate me to write.**


	4. Encounter

Hermione gently pushed open the heavy doors, mindful of the peaceful silence in the library. The librarian, a young woman she didn't recognize, looked up from her book and smiled pleasantly. "Hello. I don't believe I've seen you before- are you a student?"

"I'm a new transfer student." Hermione said, keenly aware of the emptiness of the library.

The librarian scrutinized her. "I wasn't informed of any new students here."

"I wasn't planning on staying here for long." Hermione said uneasily. "I was just interested-you know, to see the library-" She hurriedly snapped her mouth shut. She was a terrible, terrible liar. This was also probably why she hated lying.

But the librarian didn't seem to notice or care about Hermione's nervousness. "Of course." She said, already returning to her book. "Well, enjoy."

Hermione wandered the aisles, pretending to gaze at the books while she formed plans and thought about the current situation. But she was distracted, her mind always drifting back to the hospital, where Harry lay comatose and Draco lay besieged by nightmares. Hermione would have stayed in the hospital wing to watch over her friends, but there was really nothing she could do for Harry. He'd obviously suffered some serious trauma and Hermione guessed that he wouldn't be waking up again for some time.

So instead of worrying and watching helplessly, Hermione chose to do the thing she had always done best: research. So after conjuring some new robes (she could hardly stride into the library wearing her blood-stained Muggle blouse), Hermione had set out for the library.

Hermione shook her head, returning to the present. She gritted her teeth with determination. No more procrastinating. She would do her job well, and she would find a way to fix this problem. She headed towards the restricted section, already puzzling over a possible solution.

Hermione tilted her head, scanning the titles of the books: _The Temporal Conundrum, Methods of Time Travel, Merlin's Tears and the Riddles of Time_...all titles that she recognized, and all books that she had read in her preparation for this trip. But there was nothing even remotely helpful.

She sighed, frustration and anxiety and panic lingering at the edge of her consciousness. _Of course_ her particular method of time travel wasn't here. It had taken her many years of research to find the exact ritual, she reminded herself, and even then it had taken months of tweaking and adjusting before she was sure that the runes were absolutely safe. But the book detailing the ritual, the book that she had so carefully stored in her purse with the Undetectable Extension Charm, had been left behind in the future. Along with all the other useful supplies that she had intended to take with her.

_Bloody Death Eaters_.

"What are you doing in the restricted section?" A voice interrupted. It was the librarian, standing in front of her with a disapproving glare on her face. "Do you have a pass?" She continued sharply.

"I don't-" _Blast it._ She really didn't have any good excuses. Hermione cast the Confundus charm on her.

"Huh?" The librarian blinked once, twice. She noticed Hermione watching her. A bright spot of color appeared on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was doing..." She shook her head, her voice trailing off as she began muttering to herself. The librarian apologized to Hermione and hurried back to her desk, and Hermione slid her wand back into her sleeves and returned to her research.

But it was only a few moments before Hermione decided to leave. She really wasn't going to find anything useful here. She turned to leave, only to be blocked by black robes worn by a slender boy taller than her.

She looked up and found a pair of dark sapphire eyes, staring at her from a familiar face as pale as the moon.

_Tom Riddle Jr.!_ Her mouth opened with surprise. Wordless shock immobilized Hermione for a few seconds before she regained her senses and straightened up, automatically lowering her eyes to Riddle's nose. No matter how strong her Occlumency was, Voldemort in her time had been one of the strongest mind readers that she had the misfortune to encounter. Stronger than her, for sure. Stronger than even Dumbledore.

"What do you want?" She asked coolly.

His face reflected nothing but polite surprise. "Hermione, wasn't it? What a coincidence to find you here! I was just wondering if you would need any help finding your way around the castle, and imagine my surprise when-"

Hermione interrupted him. "So what are you doing in the library, er, Tom?"

"Nothing more devious than looking for a bit of reading, I assure you," he said, "And that brings me to a very good question: What are _you_ doing in the restricted section?"

Panic was forming a knot in her stomach. Hermione seized the only explanation she could come up with: "This is the restricted section? I didn't know-"

"I'm sure you didn't." Riddle spoke softly, that intense predatory gleam in his eyes. "...considering how you just Confunded poor Madam Bloxam."

Hermione's heart just about stopped at those words. _He had seen her. He had seen her Confund the librarian._ But she exhaled and found that the anxiety had gone. So he knew that there was definitely something wrong about her now. There was no point keeping up the pretense.

He was still waiting expectantly for an answer. Hermione chanced a glance into his eyes. Satisfaction and some disturbingly dark emotion shone in them before his face returned to its blankly indifferent mask.

"It was necessary." Hermione turned back to the bookshelves. Staring at Riddle's handsome face was distracting her, and- _oh dear Merlin_, she was still in the section about time travel! She surreptitiously let her wand slide into her fingers and enchanted the book covers to match those of other books that she had often seen in the restricted section.

She looked back up at him, hoping he hadn't seen. Relief made her lightheaded. He was still speaking; having not noticed a thing.

"Necessary in what way?"

Hermione was determined to tell him nothing that he didn't already know. "She didn't want me to look in the restricted section. I just wanted to browse the books." _It doesn't matter if Riddle is curious_, she told herself. They'd be gone before Riddle even knew what to do about them and sooner or later he'd forget all about the strange transfer students that had come for a few short days during his seventh year.

"What did you want to read?" Riddle sounded genuinely curious.

Hermione frowned. "A good Potions book; I've already read all of the ones in the other aisles."

"I could recommend a few."

"Thanks, but it's alright." Hermione couldn't for the life of her remember the last time she'd felt so stressed. Maybe he'd leave if he realized that she was really not that interesting-

"Well, let me know when you run out of things to read." He said lightly. "I, for one, actually have a pass to the restricted section."

"I will." Merlin and Agrippa, she hoped that Riddle was leaving. She'd had enough conversation with him to last a thousand lifetimes. She glanced sideways. Riddle was now browsing the bookshelves, long thin fingers trailing over the books' spines, evoking a thousand different memories of those same fingers, that cruel mouth murmuring Crucio-

Hermione shivered with horror and quickly grabbed the nearest tome. Pressing its heavy weight to her chest, she muttered an excuse about needing to talk to Dumbledore and fled from the library, her heart pounding furiously with fear. She didn't look back to meet Riddle's contemplative stare, burning into her back.

As she closed the library door behind her, something prickled anxiously at the back of her neck, something that made Hermione regret letting go of her pretenses. It had been a big mistake, though. One of the biggest she had ever made. Riddle would never be content to just research and theorize; no, she knew enough about Voldemort in his youth to know that he didn't just learn, he confronted and dissected and analyzed. And eventually he'd learn the truth, and-

Hermione aborted the line of thought before it could go any further. It would be a disaster, that was for sure. And it was a possibility that seemed more probable with every passing second.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter and the long absence! I've been pretty busy (and lazy) this summer break, more busy than I anticipated. So I put some Tomione interaction in here to apologize for my long period of silence. I love you all for reading and reviewing this story, by the way. Just thought I should mention it.**

**Anyways, a few things about the story:**

**1) I am an American writer. I don't know much British slang. So it would be nice, my dear readers, if you could alert me if anything sounds wrong. I could also use some British slang suggestions. :)**

**2) Hermione and co. were 29 years old when they attempted time travel. Draco was not originally intended to be part of the ritual, but plans don't always unfold correctly. Tom Riddle is in his seventh year; he has already gathered his merry band of Death Eaters and is preparing to go out and terrorize the world. (Not really, but you get the gist of it.) And most importantly...does Harry still have that fabled connection with Voldemort, and thus Riddle?**

**Read the next chapter and find out! I will try to update faster from now on. But no promises. Promises are, unfortunately, made to be broken. ****Also, it makes me sad when someone just favorites or story alerts without telling me what could make this story better, what they liked about this story, etc. etc.**

**To put it simply: Reviews make my life happy. Please review. :)**


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